time travel is real,
I spend all my days in the past,
always searching for you and the things i could have done

when life gives you a lemon
hold it up and say 'this is my lemon'
make the best of it that you can
it could be exactly what you need
don't be disheartened if you perhaps only got one lemon
when others got several
some people have it easier with all their lemons
but it is you who will grow with true lemon character
you will have lemon experience that they just don't have
you can make lemonade or sit and wait for the fruit to go off
maybe soon life will give you many more lemons
maybe even an apple

Where it used to be so cold inside of me,
It is now warming up,
I'm thawing out,
And just like the Grinch at Christmas,
My heart has grown a few sizes.

at least i'll always have myself.

This story starts 5 years ago,
Well no, 5 Years, 4 months and 8 days ago to be exact.
Yes, we tried twice in them first few months to make us happen but it wasn’t right
A year and a half later and both in the island of broken hearts, we found our lips touching each others but this time it felt right, not like before, this meant something like everything else was a crow’s call far in the distance.
For them 12 days short of a year I spent with you and the on and off sections shortly afterwards I felt like I could do anything and be anyone. But now
I have to battle with the conflicts in my mind everyday,
Of how much I don't want to let you go but knowing I have to for the sake of my sanity.
When you pop up out of the blue and message me saying ‘how are you’ I want to reply with ‘Not the same without you’ or
‘I miss you’ but I can’t.
You have moved on and that’s what I should do too.

You will always be the one that got away,
You were the one who/on that winters night when you walked out of my life.
I regret the choices I made, but you were never a mistake.
we made a trophy cabinet out of our mistakes,  but Wish we could have made a whole room full of rectifications

Goodbye, good life

.
                          c
                   o    ov     o
                 v      f e       v
                f        f e         f
               e         c            e
               f        o  v         f
               e       f     e        e
               c       f     e        c
                 o      c  o        o
                  v       v        v
                       f    f      f
                            e

There he sat, in that old leather chair.  Shrouded by a cloud of smoke of his own making. A firm grip on his glass, swirling the liquid as if he had all the time in the world. The golden hue of his drink is inviting. He takes a leisurely sip of his drink, allowing time to appreciate the flavour and the warmth that spreads within as it gratifies each corner of his mouth, he swallows almost as slowly.  He doesn’t need to look at the clock; he knows it is soon to be his time. His face is weathered and old and it bears no expression that would give insight to his thoughts. The cigarette in his free hand burns slowly and the smoke from it dances off into the air, making it hard to see.  A thin clear tube traces from inside his nose, across his tired face and over his ears, it is attached to an oxygen machine that inhabits the corner of the room.  He stares lovingly at the photos on the wall across from him, the photos of his daughters and their mother puts him at ease. He is relaxed and calm for he loves them more than can be explained or understood.  A smile settles on his face. ‘God bless my three girls' he thinks, his mouth giving way to another drink. He drifts off into the most peaceful of sleeps and his kind eyes close for the last time.